


Recovery

by FicwriterJet



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Consensual, F/M, Femdom, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 09:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12768210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FicwriterJet/pseuds/FicwriterJet
Summary: Spoilers for all of Season 7. This is an AU about what could have happened between Sansa and Petyr. Contains consensual spanking and bondage. Written for my good friend 'spankingfemme'.





	Recovery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spankingfemme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spankingfemme/gifts).



**Author’s Note:** This story has spoilers for season 7 of Game of Thrones. Written as an early Christmas gift for my friend ‘spankingfemme’. She wanted to see Petyr saved (aka: spanked) instead of what actually happened to him on the show. Written Nov. 2017  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own any of these characters, and I’m not making any money from this story.  
**Warning:** F/M consensual bondage and spanking of an adult.

RECOVERY

Sansa sat in the snow under her favorite tree, trying to feel nostalgic, but she only succeeded in feeling melancholy. She knew that she should feel happy. She was home, her brother Jon was with her, and the husband who had been her torturer and jailer was dead and gone. But it was difficult to remember her happy childhood fondly when both of her parents and all of her other siblings were dead or lost and presumed dead.

Her quiet reflection was interrupted when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Her body tensed as her head snapped around to see who was approaching.

“Forgive me my lady,” Petyr said, “If you were in prayer.”

Some of the tension left her shoulders, and she shook her head. “I’m done with all that. I came here every day when I was a girl. Prayed to be somewhere else. Back then I only thought about what I wanted, never about what I had. I was a stupid girl.” She stood to leave.

“You were a child,” he said.

Feeling tired she said, “What do you want?”

“I thought you knew what I wanted.” 

She shrugged. “I was wrong.” Before coming back to Winterfell, she’d imagined that she was the thing Petyr had wanted, but those fantasies had died along with most others at the hands of Ramsay.

“No,” he said firmly, “You weren’t.” 

Sansa just stared at him for several seconds trying to understand what he was telling her. If he’d wanted her back then, if he still wanted her now, then why had he talked her into marrying Ramsay? 

Petyr took a step closer and looked at her intently. He kept his voice low, so that no one could accidentally overhear him. “Every time I’m faced with a decision I close my eyes and see the same picture. Whenever I consider an action I ask myself will this action help to make this picture a reality. Pull it out of my mind and into the world. And I only act if the answer is yes. A picture of me on the iron throne… and you by my side.”

She took those words in, and the image of that very thing appeared in her head. He leaned down to touch his lips to hers, but she put a hand on his chest, and tilted her head away from his. He stopped.

“It’s a pretty picture,” she said softly, and then turned to walk away. A picture was all that could ever be. There was a time when she could have believed that picture, but those days were gone.

As she walked away he said, “News of this battle will spread quickly through the seven kingdoms. I’ve declared for house Stark for all to hear.”

She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. “You’ve declared for other houses before Lord Baelish, it’s never stopped you from serving yourself.”

“The past is gone for good. You can sit here, mourning its departure, or you can prepare for the future. You, my love, are the future of House Stark. Who should the North rally behind? True born daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark born here at Winterfell, or a motherless bastard born in the south?” 

She turned slowly to face him. “Is that the first step towards making your picture a reality? Convince everyone that I’m the true leader of the North? Then what? We marry and eventually lead the North in battle to take over the iron throne?” 

He took a step closer to her and said with a smile, “Is that so difficult to envision?”

Suddenly furious, she glared at him and said with venom, “No, it’s not difficult to envision, it’s impossible to envision, because I’ll never marry again.” She saw the stunned look on his face and a bitter chuckle came out of her. “Don’t look so shocked, Lord Baelish. Surely you’ve heard rumors, if not factual accounts, of the things Ramsay did to me while we were married.”

He broke eye contact, but not before she saw the guilt on his face.

She nodded to herself. “So maybe the first step towards making your picture a reality was manipulating me into marrying that monster.”

His eyes snapped back to hers. “I didn’t know…”

“Stop!” she shouted, cutting him off. “Do not speak lies to me. You knew perfectly well what Ramsay was. How did you put it? You were faced with a decision, weighed your options, and decided my suffering was a price you were willing to pay because it would be one step closer to getting you the iron throne.”

“No!” he said vehemently, walking into her personal space. “I never would have let you marry him if I’d known the extent of his depravity.”

Taken aback, she looked into his eyes for several seconds, and found that against her better judgement, she actually believed him. A lot of her anger died down, and in its place was simply sorrow.

She put a hand on the side of his face and said softly, “There was a time when I could have loved you, Petyr. The day you saved me from my aunt I thought I did. But after Ramsay…” She shook her head, let her hand drop, and looked back towards Winterfell. “I’ll never fully trust another man, certainly not you, and I’ll never be able to enjoy a man’s touch without remembering his.” Her eyes met his again once before she turned to leave. Unspoken sadness was all she saw, before turning and walking back home in the silent falling snow.

# # #

That evening after a long meal with all the visiting lords, Sansa was exhausted. As soon as it wasn’t impolite to do so, she excused herself from the table and told Jon she was retiring early. She stepped out of the chilled hallway and into the warmth of her room, thanks to the servants who had built up her fire during the evening meal. Her breath caught in her throat, and her body froze in the doorway, letting out the warm air. There standing beside her bed was Lord Baelish.

Before either one of them could speak, Brienne was there, pushing Sansa behind her, and pulling her sword out to confront whoever had dared enter her lady’s chambers unannounced. 

Petyr held up his hands and said, “I mean Lady Sansa no harm. I simply wish to talk.”

Sansa put a hand on Brienne’s arm to hold her off. “It’s all right. Let him speak.”

She lowered the sword, but stayed in front of Sansa, glaring at the man.

Frowning, he made eye contact with Sansa. “I’d prefer a private discussion.”

“Fine.” Sansa held the door, and gestured for Brienne to leave. The large woman hesitated, so Sansa said, “It’s okay. Lord Baelish won’t hurt me.”

Still glaring at the man, Brienne said, “I’ll be standing right outside the door.”

“Thank you,” Sansa said before shutting the door on her protector. She crossed the room, and sat in one of the chairs by the fire. “What do you want now?”

He pulled the other chair close to hers, and sat down. “I’ve been thinking about our earlier conversation all day.”

After a long pause, she said, “And?”

“I wish I could go back in time, and keep you from ever meeting Ramsay. But it’s futile to waste time on wishing. We can’t change the past; we can only change the present and the future. I believe I can help you recover from the things that were done to you.”

“Recover? I’m fully healed.”

“You’re a young healthy woman, and you told me you don’t think you’ll ever be able to enjoy a man’s touch. I can help you with that.”

She couldn’t stop the sneer that crossed her face. “I seriously doubt it.”

He raised one eyebrow. “You know what I did in King’s Landing.”

“You ran the brothel.” 

He nodded. “For years. I know more about intimate relationships than any other man you’ve ever met, and I’ve spent thousands of hours discussing every intimate detail with the women who worked for me. So don’t dismiss me so quickly.”

“What exactly are you proposing, Lord Baelish? If you think I’ll be letting _you_ touch me…”

He smiled ruefully. “No. I don’t think anyone should be touching you just yet. Ramsay hurt you. He forced you to do things you didn’t want to do. He had all the control in your relationship. I think the best way for you to heal, is to take that control back. You need to be the one on top. You need to be the one who tells someone else what to do. You need to be the one touching and feeling while the other person is passive.”

She could honestly say that thought had never occurred to her. Was sex even sex without penetration? What was the point of that? But… the thought of having a man being passive for her while she touched him, did spark something inside her. A sense of longing, and maybe even a feeling of desire. She blushed and turned to look at the fire.

“I myself am not submissive by nature, but for you… well we can’t chose who we love, we can only choose how to act on that love. You may not trust me, but I do trust you. I propose that you restrain me with ropes on the bed, and do whatever you like to me for the evening.”

A small gasp came out of her, and her eyes opened wide with shock. She saw him try to hide a smile, and knew her reaction had amused him. Her shock turned to anger and she snapped, “What if the thing I want to do to you is hurt you?”

That gave him pause, and wiped the smile off his face. After a few seconds he slowly nodded and said, “Some people do take pleasure in hurting others, or in being hurt. I’m not one of them, but…” He looked into the fire and added softly, “I do harbor a sea of guilt for the pain you went through, so it only seems fitting to let you respond in kind.”

“No, I didn’t mean it. I...” she trailed off, realizing that wasn’t true. She had meant it.

“Of course you did, and I accept it as my due. When you say you want to hurt me, what exactly comes to mind?”

Ideas flashed through her head, and she couldn’t deny that some of them were highly appealing.

He leaned forward and reached out to take her hand in his, but stopped before they touched. He put it back in his lap and said, “It’s difficult for me to be passive, which is part of why I suggested you restrain me. But if pain will be involved, then the restraints will be necessary. Please tell me what you’re thinking. I promise you I’ve heard far worse than anything you can come up with.”

“A whipping,” she said.

Nodding in agreement, he said, “I won’t like it, but I’ll submit to it this once in the hopes that it will begin to redeem me in your eyes. Try to focus the blows on the upper back, the buttocks, and the backs of the upper legs. Avoid hitting the spine directly, or the lower back on the sides where the kidneys are.” He turned to the side, and indicated the area to avoid.

Shocked by how easily he’d agreed to let her hurt him, she cocked her head to the side and stared at him for a few seconds trying to figure him out. “You seem very calm about all of this.”

He leaned forward and looked deeply into her eyes, as if willing her to believe him. “That picture I painted you earlier can’t be complete without you by my side. If this is what I need to do to help you heal and to gain your trust and eventual forgiveness, then I’ll do it.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ramsay was very cruel. I’ll be needing tears before any forgiveness can be granted.” She could see his forced composure slip momentarily into a grimace of distaste. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “There’s a time and place for stoicism. Being whipped by the woman I love because my decisions caused her harm isn’t one of those times. I have no doubt that this will end in tears.”

The image of him lying helpless on her bed while she beat him until he cried was becoming more irresistible with every passing moment. It wasn’t just that she wanted him to suffer for talking her into marrying Ramsay, it was that she wanted him to understand the depths of her pain. And maybe a small part of her was fascinated by the idea of having that much control over a man. 

“You’re willing to do this now? Tonight?” she asked.

“I am.” He stood up, walked over to the bed and knelt down to pull something out from under it. He held up a bundle of rope for her to see. “I came prepared.”

“If I agree to do this, it’s only for the night, with no further obligations. I won’t promise to forgive you, or to let you touch me, or to marry you someday.”

“I accept that.” He said, placing the rope on the bed, and pulling a second bundle from under the bed. “But I am hopeful that with time all of those things will come to pass.”

Sansa thought about it for a few more seconds, and then said, “I’ll tell Brienne to go down the hall, and stand guard. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I already asked a couple of my men to make sure I had time alone with you, but they’ve already failed to keep the warrior woman away, so maybe she can do what they couldn’t. I won’t accept anyone other than you seeing me in such a vulnerable state.”

She couldn’t really say she was surprised that he’d taken steps to ensure they were alone. Sansa stepped out for a quick word with her protector, and after a few mild protests, Brienne reluctantly agreed to do her lady’s bidding. When Sansa came back in, she saw Petyr standing by the bed with the rope in his hands.

“Have you ever tied anyone up before?” he asked.

“No.”

“I’ll show you how to make it impossible for me to escape without cutting off my circulation.”

Fifteen minutes later, Sansa had practiced a couple different knots, and assured him that she was ready.

He took a deep breath, and lowered his head. “As of now, I’m yours to command until you tell me I can leave the room.”

She simply stood still for a few seconds, taking this moment in. Her lips turned up in a small smile. “Take off all your clothes, and lie face down on the bed.”

He gave her a little bow, and started removing his clothes. While he did that, Sansa went to her wardrobe to find the two-inch wide decorative leather belt that went with her nicest winter dress. She pulled it off the garment, and examined the belt in a way she hadn’t before. It was a very soft leather, made from deer skin rather than cow. When she doubled it over and held both ends in her hand, it was about a foot long, which seemed perfect for what she had planned. With a nod, she closed the wardrobe, and took the belt with her. 

Petyr was already nude and lying on his stomach in the middle of her bed. He had his head turned towards her, and she could see the building apprehension etched on his face. Instead of giving her pause, her only thought was, ‘Good, he should be worried.’ 

With a smile, she set the strip of leather on the bed, directly in his line of sight, before going to the foot of the bed to start tying him down. First she tied his ankles together with one end of the rope. Then she trailed the rope down and around the left leg of the bed and then the right leg before bringing it back up in a big loop to tether his ankles in place.

“Is that too tight?” she asked, pulling at the rope slightly to make sure his feet couldn’t move more than an inch or two in any direction.

“No, my lady.”

She went to the head of the bed with the second bundle of rope, and said, “Put your wrists together up here.” She patted a spot by the pillows above his head. Using the same technique, she soon had his wrists bound and tethered to the bed also. 

Once she was done, she stepped back and admired her work. It was a heady feeling to have him utterly at her mercy. To his credit, Petyr remained silent and still, waiting for her to make the first move, and she could tell that was a struggle for him. She knew he was more than double her age, but he’d kept his body in excellent condition, and she found it pleasing to look at. 

Eventually, she knelt on the bed next to his ass, and picked up the belt. He tensed, while she adjusted the belt so that both ends were secure in her hand. She raised it up to her shoulder, and then snapped it down with gusto across both cheeks at once. A tiny distressed grunt came out of him a fraction of a second before the belt landed, as if the anticipation of it happening was almost worse than the actual strike.

Sansa paused and watched his skin for a few seconds. A faint pink mark slowly appeared. Beautiful she thought, and wondered what color his ass would be before they were done. She raised the belt up and started snapping it down repeatedly, deliberately moving the strikes to distribute the color evenly over the entire surface. 

As promised, Petyr wasn’t stoic thorough it. He hissed, grunted, whined, and moaned through it, eventually putting his mouth on the mattress to muffle the sounds as they got louder. He tried rolling his hips to the side to get away from the punishing blows, but she put her free hand at the small of his back to keep him flat. After a particularly harsh slap, he turned his head back to her and said, “Lady Sansa, please!”

She paused and looked his way. “Please what?” 

“Please…” 

She could see him struggling to find the right words, or possibly struggling not to say the wrong ones.

“Please, could you target another area for a little while? My upper back perhaps.”

Setting the belt on the bed for a moment, she reached out and put her hand on his ass. 

He gasped at the gentle touch, and held still. 

The warmth she felt as she ran her palm across his pink skin made her stomach flutter pleasantly. “I think not, Lord Baelish,” she murmured softly. “I’m going to focus all of my attention on turning the skin on your backside a deep red.” 

He shook his head, “Please, don’t.”

Her eyes snapped to his, and she took her hand off him. “We can stop this right now if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No! I mean… I…” He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I haven’t changed my mind. I don’t like it, and even though I _want_ it to stop, I need you to continue until you feel it’s done. I won’t be able to refrain from begging or possibly demanding that you stop when the pain gets to be too much. But I’ve turned the power over to you for the evening, so you decide when it’s time to stop, not me, no matter what I say.”

With a nod of understanding, she reached up and grabbed both of the pillows from the top of the bed. She said, “Lift your hips as best you can, so I can slide these under you.”

Swallowing hard, he did as she asked. Once his ass was higher than the rest of his body, she reached out to run her fingers across the pink skin again. “I do find this much more appealing than I thought I would. Having you at my mercy, hearing your suffering, and watching your skin change color, is doing more to reignite my passion than I could have imagined.”

“Then any suffering I go through tonight will be worth it,” he said sincerely.

She picked the belt up again and continued with her fast paced harsh slaps. Because of the new angle, the crease where his ass met his thighs had smoothed out, and she targeted that area for a while until it became the same color as the rest of his skin.

The first blow made Petyr yelp loudly. He turned his head back to the mattress to yelp and whimper his way through the onslaught. His body started to squirm and struggle to escape the pain before she’d even turned the new area the same pink as the rest of his ass.

She watched with fascination as the muscles of his ass tensed and relaxed along with her slaps. With the added pillows, he had no room to roll away from the strikes, but she could see him straining to try. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, it only made her want to hit him harder. Putting her shoulder into it, she snapped the belt down with all her strength.

“Ah!” He struggled furiously for a few seconds. “Please not so hard,” he said with his face still against the mattress. 

Sansa watched the spot she’d hit turn white for half a second before turning a darker pink than the rest of his ass. All of the reasons she felt like he deserved this came rushing into her head. 

“When you told me you wanted me to marry a Bolton, I said I’d rather die.” She punctuated that with another full force slap of the belt. 

“Ah!”

The satisfaction she felt made her decide to emphasize each of her points that same way. “But instead of listening to me, and keeping me safe, you manipulated me into agreeing!”

“Ah! I wasn’t trying… Ow! Sansa, please!”

“If you had simply told me that you held affection for me, and that eventually you were planning to have me for your own by whatever means necessary, I would have found it all so much easier to bear!”

“Ahhh! But you… you wouldn’t have married him!”

Scowling, she showed him her displeasure with ten full force blows all centered on his lower ass where he’d feel it when he sat. 

That made him scream, and thrash against the ropes, to no avail. 

She paused and waited for him to stop yanking at the ropes. Once he did, she heard a couple of hitched breaths, and then the distinct sound of crying. 

Feeling satisfaction at the sound, she said, “You don’t know what I would have done. We’ll never know. But you should have given me the benefit of the doubt after I lied about my aunt’s death for you.”

“I’m sorry! Truly, I am! Please believe me!”

She set the belt down again, and reached out to touch. His body shuddered as she ran the tips of her fingers across the warm skin. A darker red with a slightly blue tinge started to appear on his lower ass where she’d focused the last set of slaps. 

She turned to look at his face, and noted that while there were still tears leaking out of his eyes, he wasn’t actively crying. While keeping her eyes on his, she dug her fingernails into the blossoming bruise. 

He whimpered and hid his face back against the mattress as his shoulders started shaking again. 

Looking back at his ass, she rubbed her palm over the little indents she’d just made, to make sure she hadn’t broken the skin. She wondered if Ramsay’s cruelty had rubbed off on her, because she wanted nothing more than to see bruising on the rest of Petyr’s ass. 

That thought caused her to snatch her hand away, and just stare at what she’d done. She’d put those marks on his skin, and she’d taken pleasure in the fact that he didn’t like it. Did that make her a monster like Ramsay? Suddenly, she didn’t want to see anymore bruises on his skin. He’d suffered enough. 

She pushed the belt off on to the floor, lay down beside him on the bed, and reached out to run her fingers through his hair. Startled by her touch, his head snapped around to face her.

“Shh,” she said when she saw apprehension in his eyes. “I’m done. No more pain.”

That caused a fresh bout of tears, but he didn’t turn away from her this time. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

She continued to pet his hair and scooted a little closer. “I know, and…” she hesitating, wanting to make sure it was true before she said it. “…I forgive you.”

More tears spilled down his face at that announcement, and for the next couple of minutes they simply looked into each other’s eyes. She kept running her fingers through his hair, and eventually his tears stopped flowing.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again.

“What is it?” she asked.

“You’re slightly flushed, and your eyes… you look as though you enjoyed yourself.”

Blushing she shook her head, not wanting it to be true.

“You’re beautiful.” Her eyes snapped back to his, and he added, “It’s okay, my lady. I was hoping you’d find pleasure in being the one in control.”

“But I hurt you,” she said, not quite understanding he could be okay with that.

“You did, and I deserved it. Hopefully going forward, you can find pleasure in my submission without the pain, but if not, I’m creative enough and open enough to find ways for you to get what you need. Unlike most, I will never judge you for the things you desire.” 

Silence fell between them while she thought that over. 

“Have you ever touched yourself to climax?” he asked.

“What?! Of course not! That’s disgusting.” She turned bright red, and looked away, remembering one of her fist nights in King’s Landing when she’d overheard some servant girls talking about that very thing, and then trying it herself that same night. It was something she used to do frequently, but after Ramsay, she’d lost the urge to do it at all.

He smiled at her protest and said softly, “Sansa, my love, it’s not disgusting, it’s normal.” When she met his gaze again, he said, “I am at your mercy.” He gave the ropes a tentative yank and said, “I can’t escape my bonds. You can do anything you want to me, and I can’t stop you.” 

She couldn’t help the flush that she could feel spreading on her cheeks at the things he was saying, and the sultry way he was saying them. 

“I desperately want to reach out and touch you, but I can’t. It would be… an exquisite torture to watch you touch yourself while I’m naked and bound on the bed next to you unable to join in.” 

Her eyebrows went up in surprise, but her body responded to his words of it’s own accord. Her nipples hardened, and a jolt of pleasure made her stomach muscles clench.

Keeping her eyes on his, she moved both her hands to cup her breasts, and carefully watched his expression, searching for any hint of dishonesty, but found none. 

She was wearing too many layers to actually do much to her nipples, and she was in no way ready to be naked in front of him, but seeing nothing but longing in his eyes, emboldened her to take the next step. 

“Close your eyes for a moment,” she said.

He did as she asked, and she stood up long enough to pull down her undergarment without removing her dress. While she was up, she took another look at his pink, almost red ass, and a wave of pleasure hit her. When she lay back down, she situated herself a little lower on the bed. She reached up under her skirt with her right hand so she could touch herself while staying mostly covered, and then put her left hand on his ass to feel the warmth. 

He gasped, and flinched, but didn’t open his eyes. 

“You can watch me now,” she said. They made eye contact for just a moment, before she focused her eyes on his rear end and started moving her fingers to rub her clit. It had been so long, that she could feel the build up of energy almost immediately. She squeezed his ass as she got close, heard his grunt of pain, and cried out as her entire body convulsed with waves of pleasure. 

She lay still and caught her breath for a few seconds, before gently patting his ass, and looking up at him. 

“Thank you for letting me watch,” he said reverently. 

She used both hands to scoot herself up on the bed so that their faces were only a foot apart. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked after a long silence.

“Good. Better than I have in a long time. Tonight was… enlightening.”

“For me as well,” he said. 

“Are you ready to be untied?” she asked.

He opened his mouth but then paused before speaking. “Will I be allowed to stay for a little while longer once I’m untied?” She frowned while thinking that over, and he added, “Only to sit by the fire and talk, nothing more.” He scowled at the chairs. “Though I’ll probably prefer to stand.”

With a grin she said, “Yes, you’ll be allowed to stay for a little while.” 

“Then I’m ready to be untied.”

Once his limbs were freed, Sansa said, “I’ll wait by the fire while you get dressed.”

She sat with her back to him, but heard a few hisses and groans as he moved and got himself clothed. Fully dressed, he went to stand behind the chair he’d been sitting in earlier. 

“I bundled the ropes, and put them back under your bed. I thought we might try something similar again tomorrow night, without the whipping.” 

A small smile grew on her face at that idea. “I would like to see what color your ass is tomorrow night.”

He smiled back and said, “And I’d like to show you what color it is.”

“Very well,” she said. “Tomorrow after the evening meal, I’ll meet you back here.”

“Excellent.” 

Soon they were discussing the various visiting lords, and what could be gained by forming alliances with each of them. After Sansa yawned for the second time, Petyr excused himself for the evening to let her sleep.

# # #

Over the next few days Petyr and Sansa spent their evenings together. He helped her come up with new and interesting ways to tie him up, and she found ways to make him squirm and suffer that weren’t physically painful. All in all, it was a pleasing arrangement for both of them. 

Once Jon had been declared ‘The King of the North’, Petyr wanted to make a point of speaking to him, so he could put the idea of him and Sansa in Jon’s head. But catching the new King alone wasn’t an easy task. Then, just before Jon left on his foolish mission, Petyr followed him into the family’s crypt. 

After a wholly unsatisfactory exchange where Petyr tried to play nice, and Jon barely tolorated his presence, Jon tried to walk away with the words, “I have nothing to say to you.”

Feeling less amicable, Petyr said to his back, “Not even thank you? If it weren’t for me you would have been slaughtered on that battlefield. You have many enemies my king, but I swear to you, I’m not one of them.” He could tell his words had had an effect, because Jon stopped. He didn’t turn around or say thank you, but at least it was something.

Thinking this was his only chance, Petyr said, “I love Sansa, as I loved her mother…”

Before he could say more, Jon turned on him, shoved him up against the crypt wall, and strangled him. Caught off guard by the ferocity of the attack, Petyr didn’t really fight back, and within seconds, Jon loosened his grip. With barely contained rage, Jon said, “Touch my sister, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Jon let go and started to walk away again. Feeling angry at the lack of respect after saving the bastard, Petyr said something he normally wouldn’t have. “I don’t touch her, she touches me. If you want that to stop, you’ll need to take it up with her.”

Jon spun around, yelled, and punched Peter in the face. The older man fell back, and ended up against the crypt wall holding his bleeding nose.

“Stay down!” Jon said as he stormed out.

Dazed, Petyr couldn’t have gotten up right away if he’d tried. As he watched the other man walking away, he realized he’d made a huge mistake and cursed to himself before trying to stand. This might not be something Sansa could look past and forgive.

# # #

Sansa stood out on the walkway waiting to see her brother off. When he came outside glaring daggers at her, she was utterly confused. She thought they’d been getting along quite well the past few days. She waited patiently for him to make his way up to her. 

“We need to speak alone. Now,” he said, practically seething with pent up anger.

“Alright,” she said soothingly, “Lead the way.” 

They walked silently through their childhood home. Jon led her to his room, and shut the door behind her so they could be alone.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I need you to tell me it’s not true.”

“What’s not true?”

“That you and Lord Baelish have been…” he grimaced with distaste, “…intimate.”

She blushed bright red, and Jon’s countenance went from angry to repulsed, and eventually back to angry. “How could you, Sansa? He’s twice your age! He loved your mother! It’s disgusting!” Before she could respond he added, “He ran a brothel for fuck sake! A lady of your standing should never lower yourself to be with the likes of him!”

Her shame turned to rage, and she tilted her head up to look down on Jon. “I see, so a man can sleep with a whore and no one bats an eye, but I’ll be ostracized for sleeping with a man who runs a brothel?”

Jon thought about what Ygritte would have to say about that double standard and sighed. “I never said it was fair, but you know I’m right.”

“I am a widow, Jon. I can sleep with whomever I choose.”

“But why _him_ of all people?!”

Realizing that she’d need to be far more honest with him than she was comfortable with, she held out her hand to him, and said, “Sit by the fire with me.”

Warily, he took her hand, and they walked over to the fireplace, and sat down across from one another.

Sansa kept her eyes on the glowing embers that were left from the morning fire and said softly, “Even though I was married to Tyrion for a short time, we never lay together as man and wife. Ramsay was my first. On our wedding night, he shoved me down, ripped my clothing, and made Theon to watch while he forced himself on me.”

She heard Jon gasp, but didn’t look his way as she continued. “Ramsay always made Theon watch. I stopped crying after the first month, so Ramsay found new tortures and humiliations for me to endure.”

Forcing herself to make eye contact, she saw a tear running down Jon’s cheek. “After the things Ramsay did to me, I can’t ever lay with a man the way a normal woman would. Specifically because Petyr used to run a brothel, he not only understands this, but he’s willing to work with it. He helped me find a way to enjoy a man’s company again, and I thought that had been lost to me forever.” 

Jon reached out and pulled his sister into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” he said, wishing Ramsay were still alive so that he could kill him again.

She hugged him back and said, “I’m not asking you to like him, Jon, but I… I need him.”

“It’s alright,” Jon said hugging her so tight it almost hurt. “I don’t like him, and I don’t trust him, but if it’s what you need, then I won’t stand between you.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

He let her go and wiped the tears off his face, before sheepishly saying, “You might want to check the crypt.”

“Why?”

He winced and said, “I might have punched him in the nose for insinuating that you two were together.”

She smiled and said, “I can’t say that I’m surprised.”

“You’re not angry?” Jon asked.

She grasped his hand and said, “You’re my brother. I’d be surprised if you didn’t try to defend my honor.” She stood and he followed suit. “Come, your men are waiting out in the cold, and you have a long journey ahead.”

They walked back outside hand in hand, and she watched him ride away before going to find Petyr. She looked in the crypt first, but found no sign of him. She checked the kitchens, the dinning hall, the guest bedroom they’d given him, and even the laundry area, but couldn’t find him. Almost as an afterthought, she checked her own room, and found him sitting on the edge of her bed with his head tilted down facing the floor.

She shut the door behind her and went to sit next to him on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I let my emotions get the better of me, and said things I shouldn’t have.”

Taking one of his hands in both of hers, she said, “It’s okay. Jon needed to know, and now he does.”

Petyr’s eyes snapped to hers. “Needed to know what?”

She winced when she saw his swelling nose. “That we’re together for now.”

His eyes opened wide with shock. “And he… he’s okay with it?”

“I don’t know that I’d go that far. But he accepts it.”

“That’s wonderful,” he said with a grin.

She raised an eyebrow and said, “It is, but you did say things you shouldn’t have.”

He swallowed and said, “Sansa…”

“Your bottom is almost fully healed. I think tonight we’ll see what kind of color my hand can raise on your skin.”

Wincing at the thought he said, “You have my submission. You know this. I’ll gladly let you tie me up anyway you want to. But there are ways to punish me that don’t involve pain. And your brother already punched me,” he said with a pout, “so I’ve already suffered.”

She leaned in, kissed his temple, and said softly, “But I love seeing my marks on your skin, so you’ll take a little more pain for me, won’t you?”

Instead of answering right away, he looked down at his lap and considered it.

“Nothing like last time,” she said, “I think I’ll bind your hands and then put you across my lap on the bed. Then I’ll make you spread your legs wide so that I can touch you everywhere while I’m turning your ass a nice light pink.”

He let out a small moan at that mental image, and said, “As you wish, my lady.”

# # #

A few weeks later when Arya showed up at Winterfell, Petyr felt insanely jealous and threatened. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. He and Sansa were closer than ever, but he knew Arya didn’t trust him, and he feared that she would somehow turn Sansa against him. He wanted the dangerous little wench gone, and away from the woman he had started thinking of as his. 

While he was still formulating a plan to drive a wedge between the sisters, Sansa invited him to a private dinner in her chambers. Hoping to fill her ears with fear and doubt about Arya, he was shocked when he found both sisters in Sansa’s bedroom when he arrived. 

“What’s this?” he asked, shutting the door behind him. 

Sansa gestured to a table laden with food and set for two. “The three of us are going to have a meal together.” 

He warily looked at the table and then back at her. 

“My sister doesn’t trust you,” Sansa said, “and you don’t trust my sister. I can’t have that, so we’re going to resolve those issues tonight by showing her how our relationship works.”

Growing pale, Petyr said, “I’m not sure what you mean, my lady.”

Sansa gestured for Arya to sit, and then took the only other chair at the table. “I mean you’re going to sit by my feet while we dine and discuss plans for our future.”

He shook his head and said, “My lady, I… I don’t wish to offend, but what happens between us, is for us alone, not to be seen by anyone else.”

Sansa stood and went to him. She put a hand on the side of his face. “I know this will be difficult for you, and if you want to end things and go back to the Vale tonight, I won’t try to stop you. If that’s your choice, I swear no one will ever hear about our time together from me, or my siblings. But if you want to stay by my side, you’re going to have to do this for me. I’m not asking you to be vulnerable in front of anyone else. Just Arya, and just this once. Believe me when I say you’ll want to hear what she has to tell you.”

Momentarily torn, he simply stood still and thought it over. He could justify being submissive in front of Sansa, because it was what she needed in a relationship, but doing it in front of Arya was almost too humiliating to contemplate. Though he was curious as to what she might have to say, he didn’t know if it was worth it.

His thoughts were cut off when Sansa leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Even though they’d been spending a lot of time together doing intimate things, they hadn’t kissed since before Ramsay, so it took him a few seconds to realize how important this moment was. His natural instinct was to wrap his arms around her to pull her closer, but he stopped himself from doing it, because he knew she wouldn’t want him to. Instead he stood still, and let her do as she pleased. 

She leaned back and said, “Please do this for me, Petyr.”

He glanced at Arya who seemed to be just as shocked as he’d been, and then back into Sansa’s eyes. He found that he didn’t want to refuse her, and wondered if finally having his love reciprocated by someone was making him weak. 

“As you wish, my lady.”

With a smile, she pulled a pillow off the bed, and set it beside her chair. “Remove your shoes and your top, and then kneel at my feet. You may leave the pants on until Arya leaves.” 

Keeping his head down, and trying not to let the humiliation get to him, Petyr did as she asked, and soon found himself half-naked and kneeling at Sansa’s feet. 

“Thank you,” Sansa said and ran her fingers through his hair once before picking up her fork. Facing her sister, she said, “Your turn Arya. I know it’s difficult, but tell Petyr the truth.”

Arya put a bite of food in her mouth, and glared at the kneeling man. 

While she was apparently thinking that over, Sansa put a bite of food on her fork and held it in front of Petyr’s mouth. 

They’d done this before, and he ate the bite without pause. 

“Fine.” Arya said. “I plan to kill Cersei Lannister.”

He almost choked on his food as he swallowed. After clearing his throat he said, “Excuse me?”

“I have a list of people that I plan to kill, and she’s at the top.”

“Hundreds if not thousands of people want her dead. How do you plan to succeed where they’ve all failed?” Petyr asked, trying not to be overly patronizing.

“I also have a list of people I’ve already killed. Most recently Walder Frey and his men, and honestly, I didn’t find that difficult at all.”

Looking at her with new respect, Petyr said carefully, “And what do you plan to do after killing Cersei? Take the iron throne for yourself?”

Both Sansa and Arya burst out laughing. Petyr glared at both of them in turn. “What’s so amusing?”

“I’d rather face the executioner’s blade than sit on the iron throne,” Arya said with sincerity. Then she added, “Though I might enjoy leading an army to defend it if I trusted the person who sat on it.”

Petyr looked up at Sansa, who was smiling down at him. “Can you picture that future, my love? Jon will be king of the north. Arya will lead the army at King’s Landing. And you will sit on the iron throne with me by your side in public, and with you at my feet in private.” 

He turned his eyes to Arya, who was finally smiling at him, and then back to Sansa. “It’s a pretty picture. One I can readily envision.”

“Well then,” Sansa said, “I expect you and my sister will have much to discuss over the following weeks as you plot Cersei’s demise together. We’ll make dinner in my chambers a daily occurrence.”

“I’d like that very much,” Petyr said.

Sansa lifted her glass to toast, and Arya did the same. “Here’s to new friendships, new alliances, and new family, because as our father always liked to say, “The lone wolf dies…”

“…but the pack survives,” Arya finished for her. 

They both took a drink, and then Sansa held her cup to Petyr’s lips to complete the sentiment. 

 

The End


End file.
